Cold Hands
by AnonymousCreep
Summary: Dean wakes up at two in the morning to the scent of death and dirt.
1. ghosts

Dean's never been one to state the obvious without it being a sarcastic quip meant to annoy everyone listening. So it comes as a bit of a shock when he points out that his best friend, who should have been eight feet under a tombstone at this moment, is indeed standing in front of him at two in the morning, looking healthy and, for all intents and purposes, alive.

Dean's eyes can't get any wider without popping out of his skull. He hasn't even turned on the light yet, but from the light of the street lamp outside the window, he knows who's standing at the foot of his bed. He can recognize he silhouette of Seth Rollins anywhere.

"You're supposed to be dead," is what Dean says, and he tries not to fumble over his words while his tongue feels like cotton in his mouth. His skin feels clammy and cold, sweat sliding down his forehead in rivulets. He'd never really believed that ghosts existed, always felt like they might and didn't care too much if they did, but seeing his formerly dead best friend standing at the end of his bed, hands in his pockets and hood over his dark hair, he's kinda willing to rethink that philosophy.

* * *

Seth had died with his eyes open. Half-lidded and dark dull, but open none the less. It was something that had bothered Dean ever since, knowing that the last thing that Seth had seen was the face of his killer.

Yes, killer.

There was no way he'd lost his best friend to a heart attack, or some natural bullshit like the hospital drones had told him. He couldn't really prove that; there were no wounds or bruises on Seth's body -no blood at all- not a broken bone to be spoken of. Maybe part of that theory was because Dean's reasoning was clouded by denial and fresh pain for the loss of his best friend. Seth should've still been there, celebrating his twenty-eighth birthday, being way too excited for Crossfit, baffling Dean and everyone around him with his uncanny ability to fall asleep in the midst of blaring metal music. He should have been here on the couch, marathoning the Harry Potter series on the tv for hours on end, stopping on the sidewalk to pet every dog he saw, even if it was walking on the opposite side of the street, grinning stupid and genuine at something Roman said, rolling his eyes at Dean's weird fucking antics. But he wasn't. He was gone.

Dean had torn apart the whole damn basement, the deep dark hellhole that they'd found Seth in, looking for any signs of murder, anything at all. Broken glass, a bloody knife, a suspicious looking black glove that a killer might've dropped.

Two days. Nothing.

Nothing to show for it, except an inevitable for sale sign in his apartment's window, and a best friend who'd been taken from him too soon.

Or, not.

* * *

"You're supposed to be dead," says Dean. He's sitting straight up now, still hasn't turned on the fucking light like a normal, smart, sensible human being. "We saw it," he murmurs, almost like he's talking to himself, all the memories of Seth's cold hands and dull eyes flooding back with him being here. "You were gone, man."

He can practically hear Seth smiling in the dark, see his eyes sparkling with some smarmy comment.

"Well, I'm here now," he says, and Dean could almost sob at the sound of his voice. It sounds the same way it did a year ago, a little cocky, laughing underneath, warm, all Seth. It's like music to his ears.

It's all Dean needs to reach over and almost knock the lamp off the bedside table trying to turn it on. His bedroom turns dim, the little yellow light filling up half a corner of the room. Seth flinches at the sudden brightness, and turns his head just enough for the hood of his jacket to darken his face.

Dean doesn't remember ever dreaming so vividly; there's a first time for everything, he guesses. But there's something about the Seth that's standing here now that he knows for sure isn't the work of his frazzled and fraying subconscious. He's pretty sure that Seth is really here in his bedroom, standing very much alive and…and hiding something.

For some reason, that makes Dean angry. He wouldn't really be able to put it into words if you asked him, but the fact that Seth won't look at him drives him up the fucking wall. It's like…like, he doesn't even have the decency to look Dean in the face when he hadn't seen him breathing in over a year.

Dean throws the covers back and practically leaps across his mattress to reach Seth. He could have sworn Seth had been right in front of him when he first moved. Somehow, his aim was off. Seth is now farther away on Dean's right.

It's only a centimeter's worth of distance, but Dean knows Seth has moved. How? He didn't even see his legs move.

"What the hell? You're not really here, are you? I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Dean babbles as he slips off the bed. This time, he sees Seth move, watches him take a wary step backwards to avoid him. "You're supposed to be dead."

It sounds like a broken record by now, but it was true wasn't it? He'd been there when they'd buried the man who stood before him now at an ungodly hour of the morning. For all intents and purposes, Seth shouldn't be standing here defying the laws of physics and quite possibly the circle of life as they knew it.

Seth laughs, a quiet, toned down version of his usual bright, bursting warm ones. Dean still can't see his eyes behind the hood.

"But I'm not," he says calmly. "That's why I'm here."

Dean narrows his eyes. It smells in here. Smells like…

Dirt.

"You _are_ dead aren't you?" he says low and cautious. Eying Seth up and down, he steps towards him, reaching out and catching his arm before Seth can move like he did earlier. Why was he running from him? It was Dean, his friend; didn't he remember?

"I do," says Seth. At Dean's confused look, he elaborates slowly, "I do remember. It's just…let's just say, you don't remember me. At least, not like this."

Dean stares at Seth for a long time. What the hell was he even talking about? Of course Dean remembered him! Seth, whose birthday was the twenty-sixth of May; who had lived in Davenport, Iowa for most of his life before he'd moved to be a music curator. Seth, who had a scar on the back of his neck from a really bad fall when he was younger and spent his days off smashing away at the buttons of his Xbox controller in his underwear for hours on end.

"You're dead, Seth. But," Dean eyes him suspiciously, trying to see under his jacket hood. "But you're not. Not really. What, are you some kind of zombie?"

Seth breathes out sharply, some kind of exasperated laugh. There's a flash of white in the dark, and something twists in Dean's chest.

Teeth.

And not just any teeth; sharp, pointed fang-looking teeth. Like shark teeth, or viper fangs. Seth says, "I guess you could say that. But not quite."

Dean nods stiffly. He clears his throat, trying to stop the tightness in his chest. "Okay. I'm going to turn on the light, okay?" he says slowly. Seth shakes his head. "Um," he begins, sounding small and quiet, "actually, can we leave the lights off? The lamp is okay. I wasn't planning on staying long anyway."

Wait, what?

After all this time, Seth was still going to leave? What, was he just passing through or something? After letting Dean think that he was dead for so fucking long? He wasn't even going to stick around?

Seth shrugs. "Sorry. I just wanted you to know that I'm okay-"

"Fuck that," Dean growls, suddenly and understandably angry now. He yanks Seth forward, hard enough for him to trip over his own feet and end up sitting down hard on Dean's bed. "How long have you been alive, or undead, or whatever? Why didn't you come look for me sooner?" Dean asks, immediately swamping Seth with questions. "How are you even here? I was there when…"

Dean trails off. No need to finish that sentence, they both know what entails with it. Seth dips his head, looking towards the floor. "I know," he says quietly, "I'll be honest, this is still so new to me too. I was pretty sure I was eight feet under that night, but y'know…" Seth shrugs one shoulder. "Here I am."

"And believe me, I'm fucking over the moon that you're here too," says Dean, carding his hands through his hair anxiously, "but…"

Is this real? Am I hallucinating?

"No, I'm really here, but I can pinch you if you want," says Seth sheepishly, looking up at Dean from under his hood, yellow eyes matching the slight grin on his face.

…yellow eyes.

"I have a feeling that would be trouble," says Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't want you taking bites outta me."

Seth hums, but he looks just as nervous as Dean now. "Yeah, about that…"

"Too soon?"

"A little."

Dean leans back against the bedside table, his form blocking out the lamplight. His shadow looms over Seth. "So, what happens now? You show up in the middle of the night, not dead, but alive somehow; what do you want me to do?" He narrows his eyes and looks at Seth sitting on the bed. "What…what are you?"

He knows already, but it's so far-fetched, so outlandish…he can't believe it. He just has to hear Seth say it. He needs to hear it from Seth's own mouth.

"I think you already have an idea," Seth says, the hood of his jacket obscuring his face.

"I need to hear you say it."

Seth sighs and looks away, further hiding his face from Dean. "Does it scare you?"

Seth goes silent, refusing to answer Dean's request right away. Dean knows he can feel him staring, boring holes into the side of his hooded head. He's dodging the question, he knows. Was he ashamed of what he'd become? Didn't he know Dean would love him regardless? They were brothers, they always had been, and they would continue to be, didn't he know that? Didn't he remember that?

Dean sighs. "As long as you're here, I don't really care if you're a vampire or not."

Seth smiles, laughs softly. "It's that obvious, huh?"

"I saw your eyes. And the weird ass teeth gave it away," says Dean. "You smell like dirt."

"I'd use your shower, but I don't think that would help," says Seth with a half-hearted shrug, "Can't wash away half a year's worth of dirt."

Dean shakes his head. "Shut up and get in the shower."


	2. dirt

There's a vampire in Dean's shower.

There's a vampire in Dean's shower and he doesn't know how to feel about that.

It sounds ridiculous in his head; kind of, but this was coming from someone who actually did believe in aliens and ghosts and fucking weirdness like that. Who was to say Seth wasn't a creature of the undead? Certainly not Dean.

Seth has been in the shower for almost an hour. Steam is billowing out in thick wisps from under the bathroom door, and it's so quiet in there that Dean wonders if he's just standing under the spray, doing absolutely nothing.

He would also wonder why Seth was using up all of the hot water, but he figures that after a year under the ground, hot water was a luxury that couldn't be wasted. As far as Dean was concerned, he could go crazy in there. After all, when he thinks about what Seth must've had to go through to get topside again…

Dean shivers and pushes the thought back. He has a pretty good idea in his head anyway.

Focusing on other things is hard enough on a sleep-deprived mind, and added with the realization that Seth was actually alive and was in his shower, Dean thinks it's next to impossible to go back to sleep.

Yet somehow, he finds his eyelids slipping shut, his body relaxing against the headboard, all the while feeling as though cool hands were guiding him into sleep.

Trying to fight it is hard; Dean knows he needs to stay awake, has to stay awake to keep Seth here. He can't let him get away again.

Not again…

* * *

Seth is standing, fresh from the shower, in the bathroom. He is dripping wet in front of the mirror, and he can't see his reflection.

Oh, not because of superstition, it's just really foggy in there.

Seth tilts his head to the side and rubs at his neck. He really should look up his new side effects soon; he has no idea what he's doing. He'd never believed in superstitions, so this is all kind of cliché to him. How come he can see himself? Will he die if he touches silver? And he really likes pizza, will he burn from the inside out if he eats it in all it's garlic-y glory?

It feels great to have had a hot shower. He stood under the spray until he couldn't feel the sensation of dirt on his skin anymore, until he was sure he'd probably used up all of Dean's hot water. He should apologize later. He regarded his fingernails. The dirt had been washed clean from underneath them, but he could still feel how sore they were from furiously digging. Phantom pain, was what it was called, wasn't it?

He wondered what had become of his grave. Someone was bound to notice that he was gone and that the hole in the ground was too deep for a normal human being to dig themselves out of. Seth remembered that night like it was yesterday. The few times he had found sleep, his newfound claustrophobia had haunted his dreams.

He could still remember the sting of teeth gnawing into his jugular, and then, nothing.

He'd died that night. He knew it. But here he was, alive and breathing and…and hungry. So hungry. He hadn't eaten since the night he rose for the first time, and he was _not_ going to relive that clusterfuck of an evening.

Which was why he had to leave.

Seth can feel the hunger pulling at him, gnashing against his very being, telling him to _eat_. And he can't do that to Dean. He cannot –will not- have a repeat of his rising, even if he has to starve himself to death doing it. He can't kill someone.

Not again.

* * *

When Seth exits the bathroom, he's relieved to find Dean asleep.

"Looks like I'm good for something after all," he murmurs. Maybe it was a little rude to have pried into Dean's mind like that and force him to sleep, but Seth knew his best friend would never let him go if he was awake. It was for the best, he rationalizes. For the both of them.

Seth is turning to go when he hears a small noise. He winces at it and suddenly it feels as though the room is swaying from under his feet.

"Where are you going?" comes Dean's groggy voice, and like magic, the swaying stops. Seth shakes his head to clear his thoughts. What the hell was that?

"I'm leaving," Seth replies quietly, matter-of-factly, because he has no time for arguments; not like this, not while he's starving.

"No," says Dean, clearly not picking up on the 'no-room-for-arguments' tone of Seth's voice. "You're not." He sits up and tries to stand, still groggy from induced sleep. "You're going to stay here, get some rest, and tell me what the hell is going on," he says stubbornly.

Seth sighs, already feeling a headache coming on. "No, Dean. I can't. I'm-"

"Staying. Here." Dean is standing behind him, blue eyes steely and determined. Seth finally turns to him, and it's the first time that Dean has fully seen his face.

He looks just as he did the day he died. Dean swallows hard.

"You don't understand," Seth explains patiently. "I really can't stay here."

"Don't make me put you in a chokehold and drag you over here," says Dean, as easy and cool as ever. Seth's eyes flash gold. "You're going to make me?" he says incredulously.

Dean flexes his fingers at the joints to make his point clear. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Seth shakes his head. "That's dangerous, Dean." He didn't even know his own strength yet, though he doubted it was safe to roughhouse, not when he had broken his own coffin just by frantically banging on eight feet underground. He hated to think of what would happen if he tried that against Dean.

"Look, we have all night to argue. But you're not leaving this apartment until you get some sleep and I get some answers," Dean pauses. "And you look like shit. You really need to rest." He looks conflicted for a moment and then adds, "I have to know. I have to know what happened to you. You can't just come looking for me and not tell me anything. Not after I spent a whole year thinking you were dead."

Seth looks at Dean for a long time. Dean never realized how unsettling it was to be stared at by a pair of otherworldly eyes; Seth hears that thought rattling around in his head. He blinks, sighing, and frowns. The floor is suddenly more interesting than explaining himself to Dean.

"It's all new to me too," he says quietly. "I don't know all the answers; hell, I just started being normal again-" Seth pauses and rethinks that last statement. "Um…being alive again, I mean, six months ago. For a long time, I still didn't even know how to function properly. I can't help you anymore than I can help myself."

"So?" says Dean sharply enough to make Seth jump. "We can figure that out later. Together. So you can't leave. You've been all alone for way too long, man; I want to figure this out as much as you do."

It was true Seth had been alone since his death in the basement. He was alone when he'd died, and he'd been alone (mostly) when he'd risen. And truth be told, he was kind of tired of it; being scared and hungry with nowhere to turn and no answers to be found. Yeah, he was scared; he was a fucking vampire for crying out loud!

A freak of nature.

Yet Dean still wanted to help him? Even death and whatever the hell Seth was supposed to be now hadn't changed that. A voice in his head told him to pounce –metaphorically- on that offer. This was quite possibly the only help he'd get. At least he hadn't eaten Dean yet. And no one was threatening to kill him again.

Seth sighs, shoulders relaxing. When he looks back up at Dean, the blonde is jerking his thumb in the direction of his bed.

"Sleep," he says, with a hint of a smile in his voice. "Now."


End file.
